Half a Man
by Rapini
Summary: Marco-survives-the-Battle-for-Trost-but-is-amputat ed!AU. Jean visits him at the hospital for the first time. jeanmarco, angst. T for language.


**Half a Man**

_OK GUYS I HOPE YOU ARE READY, BECAUSE IM GOING TO FUCKING KNEE DROP YOU IN THE KOKORO. (that or you'll think this is a really shitty ooc fic lol) _

_This is Marco-survives-but-loses-an arm/eye!AU, Jean visits him at the hospital for the first time. Cue tears and angst. _

—

Jean sat in an uncomfortable chair by Marco's hospital bed. It was evening, the room was only lit by a few oil lamps. The flicker of the flames made Jean's shadow dance on the closed curtains that separated the pair from the other injured soldiers. The soft light would have given a warm, hospitable feeling to the room in a normal situation, but Jean had never felt so cold and uncomfortable in his entire life. It was the first time he visited an awake Marco since the battle had ended, two days ago.

Jean had pulled the curtains opened and closed them behind him. He greeted Marco and sat down. Marco had nodded at him and greeted him back. Jean had already seen his best friend's horrible injuries. He had visited in the morning already, and the day before that too. The sight of Marco was a grim, painful one. He had barely a stump left for a right arm, half his face and chest covered under layers and layers of thick bandages. The doctors had told Jean that Marco's eye was lost. "Isn't there anything you can do to save it!? Can't you re-attach his arm!?" Jean had pleaded.

"No, you don't understand soldier. They're _gone_." They had replied with the unfortunate but necessary detached tone of military medics.

It had been a shock seeing his best friend in that state the first time he had entered the room. He could have sworn his heart literally sank in his chest and stopped beating for what felt forever. He had never felt such gut wrenching emotional pain. That deep, heavy feeling of doom and despair in the pit of his stomach that he felt while fighting the Titans…It was nothing compared to this. He had thought that seeing him might be easier this time. He had already seen it a few times, after all.

It wasn't. If anything, witnessing Marco in this state now that he was awake made it worse.

"Hi Marco…" Jean said meekly.

"Jean. Hi…" Marco replied, his tone unlike anything Jean had heard before. It was drab. Monotone.

Jean didn't have the courage to ask: "_How are you doing?"_ He wasn't sure if it was an appropriate question or not anyway. Marco tensed up like a rock the moment Jean leaned closer to the bed and tried to touch the arm in a gesture of attempted comforting. He recoiled, like an injured, terrified animal. Jean could see his entire body shivering, cold sweat dripping off the visible part of his back and chest. The few spots of revealed skin not covered in bandages.

Jean wanted to be away from here…But he wanted to be here with Marco too. He had to. He wanted…He wished none of this had ever happened at all. Jean was not a bad person, but he was honest. This is not a burden he would carry for anybody else's sake, and he would never have lied about it either. That is, he would not carry it for anyone else but Marco. If it could happen again. If it could be him instead, who would have had his body, his future, destroyed…If it could have been him laying in pain on that bed right now instead of Marco, he would have done it in a heartbeat. But he couldn't.

"Marco…" He tried to reach for his friend's hand slowly, carefully.

"Don't." Marco pulled his only remaining hand away. His movement was not rough, but it was firm. "Don't Jean, please." He repeated with the same detached voice.

"Marco…" Jean stared into his friend's brown eye. It made it difficult for him to hold back his tears, seeing him like this. Marco's gaze had hardened in a way that Jean had never seen in him before…but how could he possibly blame him? His arm had been ripped off. Devoured. At least a quarter of his body destroyed, not to mention his dreams and their future in the Military Police together too . His youthful innocence had left him, that day. It reminded Jean of the eyes of those who had been there on the day the Colossal Titan showed up…But there was something else as well. There was intense pain in Marco's remaining eye right now. Not physical pain, although there was a lot of that too, no doubt, but something deeper. Something harder to grasp. Jean tried once again to reach for Marco's hand. The injured teenager pushed him away weakly. Jean did not try again, letting his arms fall back to his sides.

Marco looked away, his brows furrowed and tense. He was paler, much paler than usual, dark circles under his eye. Blood loss, surely.

-"Marco, is there anything I can-"

-"No." Marco interrupted Jean with a dull, but sharp tone.

-"A-are you sure? Do you need-"

-"I said no."

-"Okay…" Jean's voice trailed off.

Jean remained in the same sitting position on the chair, his legs closed together, his shaking hands grasping at his knees so hard his knuckles had turned white. Marco was looking away, and Jean had found himself unable to keep looking at him after a while. He chose to stare at the floor instead.

Minutes had passed, and the silence weighted painfully on Jean. At this point, all he wanted was for Marco to say something. _Anything_. He couldn't stand the silence any longer, and after opening his mouth a few times without being able to say anything, he finally spoke again.

"Marco…I'm sorry."

-"Yeah…Me too…"

The same monotone voice. It was uncanny, Jean just wanted the old Marco back. He could still picture his warm freckled smile fresh in his mind. Two days felt like two years at the moment. Jean caught himself wishing for such a thing; that he wanted his friend back. He hated himself even more for even _daring_ to think of something like that. It was Marco who was laying in that bed. Jean had nothing to complain about."_I'm so stupid."_ He thought in a moment of heavy silence.

"Marco, just let me…" Jean dragged his chair as close as he could to the bed, leaning closer towards his friend. He offered his hand, his eyes pleading. He hadn't even noticed the tears that were now rolling on his cheeks.

"Go away, Jean…" Marco muttered under his breath. His voice began to crack.

"I'm not going to leave you alone here, Marco."

"Jean. I said go away." His tone grew more bitter. He had never heard Marco sound like this. Jean had no idea what to do. He couldn't possibly give up on Marco now, could he? Marco needed him…_Marco_, he couldn't stay alone like this?

"Marco, I just want to…" He didn't bother reaching for his hand this time. He only wanted him to at least LOOK at him.

"…"

"Marco, look at me…" Jean's pleading tone almost sounded like a whimper.

He did. Marco's remaining eye stared into Jean's gray eyes. His eyelid narrowed, teeth showing through his curled lips.

"Jean, go the fuck away." His voice almost sounded like a growl.

At this point, Jean was not certain that this was reality anymore. He mentally pinched himself. It was.

-"Marco…Please…I just want to help you."

-"There's nothing you can do."

-"I just want to be there for you then…"

-"No. I told you to go away."

-"Marco…"

Marco grunted with pain as he suddenly sat up as suddenly as he could with the injuries and the bandages. He clenched his remaining hand into a tight, shaking fist, then lifting one finger towards the door.

"JEAN GET THE **FUCK** OUT OF MY ROOM NOW." He screamed like a beast. "GET OUT. GET THE FUCK OUT. FUCK OFF. GET OUT. I WANT YOU TO FUCKING LEAVE NOW." The screams didn't stop until Jean had gotten up, covered his eyes with his hands and walked away. He didn't have the courage to return to the barracks, not in the state he was. He spent a good part of the night awake in some empty field, crying, for hours, crying in a way he had never imagined a grown man could cry. He had no idea Marco had spent the rest of the night sobbing quietly in his empty hospital room.

_Should I continue this? You guys let me know in reviews if you think I should! _


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